Return to Antiva
by LyriumLove
Summary: POST DA Origins. After the most recent Blight has ended, Zevran's Warden amour has cast him aside to marry Alistair and rule Ferelden. Rather than kill the Queen, Zevran returns to Antiva and his old ways. Katarina Campana is a great-something granddaughter of the famed Queen Asha, but living in squalor and poverty. Can they navigate the brutal life of the Crows to find themselves?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_The air was hot and thick in the grove. It was the kind of hot, stifling air with no breeze, that stuck to your lungs. Breathing was hard, much less moving about. The Campana estate boasted many gardens, orchards and groves. Antiva was famous for her gragrant, luscious peaches. This grove housed nearly a hundred great peach trees, swollen and heavy with the precious fruit. On the outskirts of the estate was a small winery which turned a portion of the fruits into wines. Katarina Campana shifted from foot to foot, waiting with a tray laden with her newest dessert confections to be served to the lady of the estate and her noble friends. It was too hot to suffer these formalities. And she was tired of suffering the whims of her noble employer, when this estate should be hers instead. Another servant signaled to her. Throwing on a bright smile, Katarina carried the tray out into the sunlight. _

The Campana family was once famous and great. Queen Asha Campana had married the King of Antiva and proceeded to bare him a number of children whom she promptly married into the most noble and important families across Thedas. Her grandchildren had been married as such as well, Asha's influence stretched far and wide. For all her ambition, she was not said to be a cold or heartless monarch.

Despite the family's greatness in history, their current standings in society were quite different, indeed a stark contrast to times past. Most of the Campana line had since died out and their family seats dissolved or bought by current noble families. At this estate in Antiva City, everything was left intact as a gesture and testament to the greatness the family had once held. It was currently owned by the Fortunate family. The Fortunatos were merchant princes and the family's patriarch, Pero, was a high-ranking Antivan Crow. He rarely visited the estate, having purchased it for one of his daughters. Patrice and her husband Cesare lived here now. Cesare was a wine merchant who made good use of the winery on site. His wife, Patrice was vain and mean. She was known to be abusive to her slaves and lavish with her money. She was well feared out of respect for her father and husband. She had borne her husband one son at the beginning of their marriage when she was only 14 and then banished him from her bed, refusing to get with child and go through the horrors of the birthing chamber again. She selected mistresses for her husband now, even keeping some at the Campana estate. As for her own yearnings, she chose to watch her slaves mate while either a male or female slave serviced her with their mouth. It is within this chaotic abyss of depravity that Katarina Campana found herself, searching for her family's history and a place in the world. Katarina was one of the last living descendants of Queen Asha, born to a great-great something or other grandson of the Grandmother of Thedas. Katarina had been born in Treviso and grown up in relative comfort until her family had all died in a shipwreck off the coast of Rilato Bay. Afterwards, it was discovered her father was actually in great debt. One of his creditors put a price on Katarina's head, hoping to recoup some of his loss through any heirlooms she might possess. So she had fled, barely escaping the Crows sent after her. She'd run from town to town, working odd jobs and barely escaping the life of a slave as well. Her luck began to run short when she arrived in Antiva City. She had trouble finding work in the city but eventually landed a job as a kitchen urchin at the Campana estate. Until she was brought to the house, she had no idea that her new employers were usurpers of a home and title she rightly deserved. She gave her first name always anyways, always lying and saying she had no memory of a last name, that her mother had been a whore and she'd never had a father. It felt like a betrayal to the loving parents she had, but one day she promised them silently, she would redeem her family's name and honour. No one questioned an unknown bastard who was no threat to the current dynasty. It took only a year for her to work her way up in the kitchen ranks. She was disciplined, discreet and talented. She had a nose for flavor and enough creativity to keep Patrice and her retinue sated. She lay low, keeping her secrets, collecting information and never making an impression other than the delicacies she cooked. By her second summer she was only one in rank below the head cook, who was becoming old and would eventually retire.

_Her betrayal had reversed everything good in him. Every learned kindness, every bit of compassion and goodness slipped away the day Warden Elissa Cousland left his side to marry Alistair Therein and rule Ferelden. Elissa had spent years fighting along Zevran's side, through unimaginable perils and as never wavering in her loyalty to him. Not one night went by when she and Zevran slept apart, making passionate love most nights. They were bound by war and Zevran had thought, love. But once the Arch Demon had been slain, Elissa put Alistair on the throne…and herself too. It was no secret that the hapless Warden boy had always harbored a penchant for Elissa. She was, after all, beautiful and clever and noble. But Elissa had, from the moment she met him, been cold towards him. She had never encouraged his advances or paid him any attention. Until that day. Until her speech in front of everyone at Denerim. She'd had Anora executed just like she had Anora's father. Zevran had always suspected his lover as ambitious, but never enough to commit such a betrayal. She hadn't even said goodbye. She had simply moved into the Castle with Alistair and his bed too. Castle guards had collected her things from the campsite outside Denerim. They'd been married the day afterwards. Zevran hadn't been invited but that had never stopped the Crow from crashing a party before. He'd slipped in to the reception, cornering Elissa as she had made to relieve herself, likely after too much wine. They had railed at each other, screaming and yelling. To Zevran, it was as if his love had died the moment she spoke at Alistair's coronation. She offered no sympathy then, in her wedding finery. No excuse, nothing. She spoke of nothing but duty and preservation of the realm. All Zevran had really heard was power. She wanted power and would stop at nothing to achieve that. Before he left her, he had contemplated all manner of things. He wanted to hurt her one last time, make her feel even a shadow of the turmoil she'd sent him spiraling into. He could kill her, rape her there in her wedding dress. In the end, he settled for dumping the nearest wine goblet on her fine dress and ripping the blue earring out of her ear with one quick, fluid motion. She had no right to keep the trinket, after all. Blood had spattered and she had shrieked in pain, at last. Perhaps not emotional pain, like he had felt, but it was pain at least. Zevran had left Denerim that very day, traveling without resting until he found a port and booked passage back to Antiva. _

_He successfully killed every Crow assassin sent after him, until he was at last summoned and brought back into the familiar fold of the life of a Crow. He had transitioned back into the life as easily as if he'd never left. He preferred it that way. Pretending none of it had ever happened was the easiest way to forget her. He bedded every whore he fancied, man and woman, always using a skin made from the bladder of a sheep to ensure he got no bitch with babe or contracted any disease. It was expensive to purchase the skins, but the life of a Crow paid well, especially for one as notorious as Zevran Arainai. He moved up the ranks, never slept without a blade and closed off his emotions completely. It had been four years since he left Fereldan and he had recently purchased a nice chateau on the outskirts on Antiva City. It was quiet there and Zevran could relax infrequently when the insanity of the life of a Crow wore him down. It was settled on a few acres and Zevran had a stable built and purchased several racing horses, nearly all stallions. To the south, a few miles from him was the vast Campana estate, housing one of his colleagues, Pero and his bitch wife. Zevran had been settled in his new home only a few weeks before an invitation to a ball at his neighbors arrived. Zevran hated the stuffy affairs, especially in the summertime, but it would be a useful chance to gather information he could use against others at a later time and also to sample some fine Campana wine and a whore or two. _

Zevran kept little attendants at his home. Just the necessities and even these he regularly discharged. He wanted no one close to him, no one familiar enough to ever have the chance to stick him in the back. He kept no manservant or butlers, only a small handful of servants to clean and cook and attend the horses. When he hired someone, he made himself clear that it was a temporary situation, no matter how well they could cook or clean. This plan served him well. He was not a target any longer, but he never turned his back. He never would again.

He dressed himself for the ball he'd grudgingly accepted an invitation to. Zevran loved fine clothing. He pulled satin breeches from his closet, a vivid blue and dark blue, leather overlays. He pulled a black silk tunic and blue cotton undershirt out as well. After bathing, he pulled the clothing on and studied himself in the mirror of his bedchamber. Silently, he walked over to a small jewelry cask on one of the bed tables and picked a pair of sapphire cuff links. He added these and polished silver, calf length riding boots. Still not satisfied, he retrieved a wide, black dragon hide belt inlaid with gems of all shades of blue, stamped into the hide in an extravagant pattern. Securing it loosely about his waist to rest on his hips, he looked at himself in the mirror again. Leaving the shirt unbuttoned to expose his smooth skin, he was finally satisfied. His white blonde hair was pleated on the sides and brushed until it gleamed. He'd just had it trimmed a week ago and it fell neatly just below his shoulders. Grabbing his daggers, he stashed one in his boot, a small knife in his pocket and the largest on his side encased in a sheath. Quickly descending the steps, he picked up the invitation from the formal desk inside the hall of the chateau. Smirking, he slid it into the pocket inside his doublet and grabbed a peach from the basket of fruit sent over with the invitation. Taking the letter opener from the desk, he sliced off a few pieces, savoring the sweet flesh of the fruit. Outside, he took the reins of his stallion from the stable hand and dismissed him for the evening. Grinning, he took one last piece of peach and reached up to his neck, allowing some of the juice to dribble onto his neck, earlobes and chest and dry. Women were just as mad about scent as were men and Zevran loved the smell of the famed Antivan peach. Tossing the pit to one of the begging hounds in the yard, he checked the straps and saddle for any breaks or cuts. Satisfied, he lithely jumped into the saddle of the impatient stallion and thundered down the drive of his home, enjoying the feel of the powerful beast below him. The evening sun was setting and there was finally a slight breeze over Antiva City. As Zevran turned the corner into the courtyard, his stallion's hooves clattering on the cobblestones, he turned more than one head. Jumping down from the saddle, he handed the reins to a waiting slave and strode up the stairs to enter the Campana home and their summer fete.


	2. Chapter the First

_Quick note: This story will be written in two POV: Zevran and Katarina. It may not bounce back and forth often. There will be more from Katarina than Zevran. This is a post-Origins affair, so it is AU. There are canon plot points from Origins that have affected Zevran, but this story takes place afterward. No, I don't intend to write the pre-story from Zevran's perspective. Sorry! And yes, I changed the original spelling of Katarin's name to suit my fancy. Antiva City is my Rome, per say. Enjoy! Pretty please with lyrium dust on top, leave a review, even a few words._

**Chapter the First**

Katarina

There was truly no need for a pre-party in the grove. Katarina was beyond livid with her employer's idea. It was the peak of summer and in Antiva City that meant extreme heat. It hadn't rained in weeks, which was unusual. But Lady Patrice had declared she was bored by the dust and wanted to have a summer ball. Granted, nights were considerably cooler, but a pre-celebration was an awful idea. It was simply too hot. Even Lord Cesare, Patrice's husband, had tried to dissuade his wife. She wouldn't be budged.

And so Katarina had rallied her kitchen troops and planned the evening feast. For appetizers she chose simple trays of fruit cut into delicate shapes, oysters with a rich plum dipping sauce and lemon spiced cakes. Katarina didn't want to plan anything overly heavy with the heat and the fact that the guests would be drinking heavily. For the main courses she selected a lentil and radish dish, roasted pork, breads with a light honey dipping sauce, baked fish rolled in cabbage, and an array of roasted vegetables. She left off any heavy sauces or gravies. As for the desserts, she of course would bake these herself, they were her favourite. Orange pastries dyed Fortunato blue with blueberry juice and a whipped confection made from Antivan peaches and spices. It took Katarina ages to perfect the consistency. It would be served in the hulls of the peaches and those painstakingly carved with the Fortunato crest. It was a daunting task, but Katarina enjoyed a challenge. Her superior was old and gladly gave up the reins to her for this and most other tasks.

This was all and well until a few days before the summer ball, Lady Patrice decided, on a whim as usual, she wanted to have a summer tea in the orchard. She wanted it a few hours before the ball, to entertain the noble ladies who had traveled from afar to attend the event. Katarina had enough on her hands without adding a midday menu but obliged grudgingly. Over the course of the psat two years, her patience had waned thin. This was _her_ home, _her_ family's seat and title. She meant to take it back.

Her only problem was how. She had no money and no connections to speak of. Nothing but a whisper of a name from the great pages of history. She had begun to doubt her mission. She was smart, with an extensive memory. She gathered information over the years and guarded it as jealously as a dragon with a horde of gold. She knew who was loyal to whom. Where the funds came in and left again. Who was fucking who. All the bastards and their fathers. In the short span of two years, she'd learned all this and more. She had earned more trust from her patron family and their connections than ever thinkable of a cook or servant of any kind. They didn't realize it, either. She was inconspicuous and subtle. Knowledge was power, indeed, but alone of itself, it wasn't sufficient to give Katarina the tools to take down the Fortunatos and rise the Campana name again.

She grumbled over this as she glare in the sun, on the day of the tea, holding a tray of fresh apricot and pear puffs. Bite size pastries in different shapes, painstakingly sculpted of precious white flour and filled with a light, bubbly fruit cream. Sculpting and culinary illusions were Katarina's only joy. She never allowed the urchins or servers to present her signature dishes. This way, no one was poisoned without her leave and she could hear any praise or criticism with her own ears.

She stood still as a statue, sweat glistening on her caramel skin. She wasn't extremely short, but at a little over five feet tall, she certainly wasn't an imposing figure. Her bosom was heavy but her backside nearly flat, something that irritated her. Her waist was slim and without marks, her legs taut and smooth. Her hair was a tussle of dark gold curls, nearly a light brown, but with enough highlights to be considered more golden. She kept it always pulled back into a bun with a porcelain hair pin, stray curls escaping. Her eyes were a deep mahogany, glittering when she was delighted or angry. Her cheeks were high and her nose long and straight. She had a round chin and soft ears. Most often she wore black stone earrings, small and dull. As she sweltered in the sun, she shifted about quietly to take advantage of the shade.

A male slave clad only in a pale blue toga, the signature Fortunato colour, served the women chilled wine. The slave was marked separate from a servant by the painted torque around his neck. A small metal one, forged onto them when Lady Patrice purchased them, marking them as hers. Katarina herself was not a slave, but slaves were certainly not uncommon in Antiva. Most noble households had a few in addition to servants. It was a sort of dying tradition that lingered on with a bad stench. Lady Patrice, however, kept slaves in quantity, something she was known for as well as her ruthlessness.

Attending the lady of the house today was a small selection of Antiva's elite social circle. Lady Ursula, niece to Master Ignacio, a top Crow diplomat currently in Ferelden, was a short, squat woman who ate and drank too much. Isabella Valisti, aunt to the famed Claudio Valisti, was an older but still strinkingly handsome woman. Lady Claudette Agnes was Patrice's sister and Claudette's best friend Selena DuBois, who was the wife of one of Cesare's contacts. The three Beauchone sisters: Anna, Rosaline and Blanch were also in attendance; the spawn of some Crow merchant who was extremely wealthy and therefore important. Finally, Princess Bissette Faure, the reigning princess of Antiva and her daughter, Jacquetta were visiting from the royal castle. Lord Cesare was on good terms with Prince Louis, having supplied him with wine and arranged several mercantile contracts for Antiva as well. It was a veritable who's who nest of Antivan spiders.

Katarina listened to them demean their husbands, discuss the latest fashions and all other manner of boring prattle typical of royalty and nobility. She was near to falling asleep when the clucking hens' broached the subject of Lady Patrice's notorious exploits with her slaves. Lady Patrice threw parties regularly and due to her unique "tastes" she had garnered a reputation for said exploits. Many a noblewoman had paid heavy coin or bribed with favors for Patrice to invite her to a party where she could, _indulge,_ in the delicacies of the flesh, wantonly so, and without fear of exposure. Lady Ursula was needling Patrice to detail her latest party and some of the women had grown bored and were flitting about the orchard with their wine goblets, discussing this or that. Various servants attended to them while Katarina stood under the shade where Lady Patrice and the young Beauchonne sisters reclined in chaises, fanned by slaves. They were fairly drunk by now and at Ursula's urging began to become a bit rowdy.

Afternoon was giving way to early evening. Katarina had the last bit of cooking to oversee but these meddlesome birds were insistent on clucking instead of retiring. Giddy from the wine, the youngest Beauchonne sister squealing after Patrice regaled them with her tale and began to tease and touch the closest slave fanning her. Katarina was watching closely. Olivere was his name and he was new to the Fortunato household. He was tall, slim and his skin was as dark as cocoa. His head was shaved and he too was dressed in nothing but a torque and toda. Rosaline got the idea to demand Olivere fornicate with another slave for their viewing pleasure. Oddly enough, Patrice became flustered and protested. The girls took this as her being partial to the appealing slave and began teasing her relentlessly. After several minutes Patrice managed to deflect the request with a promise of a show later that night after the ball. Finally, the flock retired to their rooms to bathe and sleep off the wine.

Katarina returned to her kitchens, quickly giving out orders and putting everyone to work who was idling. Once the majority of the evening's food was progressing to her satisfaction, Katarina went in search of Olivere, and more information. She found him quicker than she had anticipated. He was loitering about one of the kitchen maid who was busy peeling potatoes. Katarina hung back in the hallway, just before the doorframe, in the shadows enough to obscure the couple's view of her, yet visible enough to the corridor and anyone she should need to head off.

After a few moments of eavesdropping it was obvious Olivere was still swimming in his head from the compliments he'd received and was trying to impress and seduce the kitchen wench.

"Put down your knife and come handle mine, it's much bigger" he boasted, swaggering about the small storeroom. He was attempting at a proud peacock strut, but Katarina thought he looked more a drunken pigeon. She stifled a laugh as the wench giggled and continued to cut the potatoes. She could just see them from her position through the crack in the large doorframe. Olivere was handing her potatoes now and the black haired lass was tittering and peeling them. She had an ample bosom but not much else to remark on.

"I can't go now. The ball is tonight and Mistress Katarina will skin me instead of these potatoes if I don't finish my task." Her voice was nasally and whiney. Katarina would never understand why men would bed women randomly.

"But you're skin is so lovely. I want to caress it," the smooth talking lad tried, reaching a dirty finger to trace her neck. The wench shivered and giggled again.

"I just can't spare the time, Olivere! We're so busy!"she made to turn from him, back to the pile of vegetables.

With a quick check down the hallway, Katarina shifted her weight from foot to foot to continue watching. It was excruciatingly boring to watch the young man try to bed a common kitchen scullion. She was about to head back to the main kitchens when the conversation turned very, very interesting.

Olivere stepped behind the girl, grabbing her bosom with one hand and her arse with another. The girl jumped and turning, promptly disengaged and threw a half-peeled potato at him. "Stop! What are you doing! Do you treat Lady Patrice so harshly, too!?"

Katarina bit her lip in satisfaction at the information. Olivere immediately backhanded the wench, hard. When she began to cry, he grabbed her by the throat, pushing her against a wall. Still sobbing, the girl tried to kick him.

Easily deflecting her, he hissed, "You never, ever, speak of such again, bitch, or I will kill you." With another slap, he made to turn away.

Katarina stepped back, further into the shadows. The girl spat, "I'm telling Mistress Katarina! You're done! You..." She never got to finish her sentence and Katarina closed her eyes. SHe could hear the door slam, the girl being thrown against a wall and the rip of her dress. Katarina turned on her heel and strode back down to the main kitchen, quietly.


End file.
